


The Past does not Define You

by MerryWanderer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, Drinking, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Grantaire is a Mess, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Montparnasse Being an Asshole, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nonconsensual nudes, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Coercion, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryWanderer/pseuds/MerryWanderer
Summary: "Be serious," said Enjolras."I am wild," replied Grantaire.~~~~Grantaire "dated" Montparnasse for a year; in reality, Montparnasse abused him and wouldn't let him leave. Now, Grantaire has been free from Montparnasse for seven months, and attempting to be sober for six, when after a meeting with the Les Amis, he runs into Montparnasse again. After that, everything starts to change.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire/Montparnasse
Comments: 56
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire had been trying to become sober for six months now. Had been trying, the key phrase in that sentence. It felt like he took two steps forward and one step back, because no matter how many times he threw out the alcohol that somehow accumulated in his apartment, more always appeared. No matter what non alcoholic drink he ordered at the bar when the other Les Amis dragged him there, he always found himself staring longingly at the others glasses of beer or wine or whatever they had chosen to drink. They were all gathered at a table, laughing and talking together, the rough drafts of their most recent flyers sitting on the table before them, nearly forgotten by all but Enjolras.

The handsome blond was the only one still focused, his drink nearly forgotten beside him as he stared at the flyer in his hand, a pencil held in his other hand that he used to make marks and edits on the flyer, mouth drawn in a pensive line.

Grantaire wondered what that mouth would feel like, and took a big sip of his drink to chase that idea away. Grantaire knew better than to want another man. Not again. Not this time. Especially not Enjolras, who didn't seem to have an interest in _anyone_. Grantaire sighed faintly, leaning his cheek on his paint stained hand, eyes flitting over the group. Jehan was seated beside Courfeyrac, and the two were talking quietly, wrapped in their own world. Joly, Musichetta, and Bousette were practically in each other's laps, tangled together comfortably with smiles on their faces. Grantaire still didn't know everyone's names; whether this was due to laziness or otherwise, he wasn't even sure himself.

His head swayed from side to side with the beat of the music, and he remembered meeting another young man in a bar very like this, just over a year and a half ago. Handsome and dark haired, with a smile that had sent shivers down Grantaire's spine.

Grantaire swore under his breath, and drained the rest of his drink, wishing desperately for the fuzziness and relief that alcohol would have brought. But he had sworn to try and become sober, and he was going to try his damndest, even if he was desperate for the bitter taste of a drink that could wipe away his worries for the night.

" _Shit_..." he breathed, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with a hand. Maybe he should just head home. It wasn't as if anyone would care if he did; they were all busy with each other. Sometimes he felt like he didn't belong here, even though most of the others insisted he was wanted. Enjolras was the only one that had hardly acknowledged him. But, Enjolras didn't acknowledge anyone, so he supposed that that didn't matter too much.

He stood, looking over at Jehan and Courfeyrac. "Jehan, Courf." he called over, getting their attention. "I'm heading back to the apartment." he lived with them; they had offered him a place to stay when Grantaire had been...without a place. He nearly winced at the memory, wishing he was in a better headspace. But something was off tonight; he couldn't stop remembering.

Jehan nodded a little, raising their eyes to meet his. "We'll see you there." they said, waving and smiling gently.

He nodded a little, and started moving to leave.

His eyes snagged on a tall, dark haired man with a smile like a knife, and ice settled into Grantaire's bones. He knew this man. Knew him. Hated him. His breath caught in his throat. He could hear the laughter and jokes from where the Les Amis talked behind him. He could flee back to them, hide in their midst and they would let him. But his feet wouldn't move. He felt rooted into the ground, breath catching and panic clawing in his chest, paint stained fingers trembling by his sides.

He watched as if in slow motion or deep underwater as the man turned and saw him. As those eyes lit and that smile slid into place. Watched as the man approached, put a hand under Grantaire's chin.

"Hello, Grantaire." said a smooth voice that was oh so familiar. "Fancy seeing you here."

Grantaire's lips parted, but he couldn't speak. He swallowed, staring. "M...'Parnasse..." he breathed. "Par...parnasse, I..."

Montparnasse's lips curved in that wicked, familiar smile. "Oh, Grantaire. Have I made you speechless _again_?" he came closer, arm curling around Grantaire's waist as Grantaire stood frozen, barely breathing. Lips brushed against Grantaire's skin. "I've been looking for you." Montparnasse spoke so softly into Grantaire's ear. Anyone else would have thought it romantic, soft and sweet. Grantaire knew it for the threat it was. "I've been looking _everywhere_ for you. My lost little pet."

Grantaire started to tremble, unable to offer any resistance as Montparnasse led him out of the bar and into the nearby alleyway, pushing him into the wall. Not violently. Not yet. 

"A friend told me you'd joined up with these young revolutionaries. The Les Amis?" Montparnasse's lips were still curved in that soft, dangerous smile that made ice curl into Grantaire's bones. "It was simple to find you after that, pet." 

Grantaire trembled as Montparnasse stroked a hand over Grantaire's cheek, so deceptively soft and gentle. "Please." he whispered, licking his lips as his eyes flashed around, looking for a way out. 

"Please what?" Montparnasse arched a dark eyebrow. 

"Let me go." Grantaire begged. "Please, 'Parnasse." he blinked quickly, trembling. 

Montparnasse's features darkened. "Pet." he said, cupping Grantaire's cheek. "You know I can't do that." he brought his face to Grantaire's in a rough, claiming sort of kiss. The kind of kiss that left Grantaire breathless, but not in a good way. The kind of kiss that made Grantaire want to die. The kind of kiss that made him want to take a blade to his own skin. To drown his sorrows in bottles. When he pulled away, Grantaire knew that he wouldn't be able to escape this time. 

"'Parnasse." he gasped, tears gathering in his eyes. " _Please_. Don't. Please, I'm s-sorry." 

Montparnasse shook his head. "No, Grantaire. I don't think you are. You aren't sorry. You ran away from me, pet. From _me_ , when all I've done is take care of you." 

Grantaire shook his head quickly. "N-no. No, you abused me." he protested. "You _hurt_ me. You..." his throat closed up at the memories. The bruises he had worn every day, the way Montparnasse would beat him when he was angry, or throw him down against the bed and force himself into Grantaire. All the ways that Montparnasse had abused Grantaire for a year, before Grantaire finally found the courage to leave. And now, six months later, Montparnasse was back and Grantaire didn't know how to make him leave again. " _Please_ don't do this." he whispered, blinking away tears because he knew that Montparnasse loved to see him cry. 

"Ah, pet." Montparnasse said, sighing. "I think your memories must be faulty. You drank so much, pet, it's no wonder." he stroked Grantaire's cheek tenderly. "I did not abuse you. Sometimes, yes, I admit, I could be a little harsh, but, _mi favori_ , everyone is capable of being harsh. And I apologized if I did hurt you. Don't you remember? You drank so much, maybe your memories are just messed up." 

Grantaire's lips parted, and he searched Montparnasse's face. No. No, his memories couldn't be faulty...could they? It was true, he drank a lot while with Montparnasse, to chase away those same memories. Was Montparnasse...right? No. No, he couldn't be. Grantaire remembered too many nights of Montparnasse over him, inside him, while Grantaire begged for him to stop, for all of it to be a lie. "No. That's...that's not true." he breathed. "I _remember_ what you did. It's not just a lie, it _isn't_." he wished desperately that one of the Les Amis would come and find him, save him. 

"Oh, _mi favori_." Montparnasse said, bringing Grantaire in for another one of those possessive, claiming kisses. When he pulled away, he cupped the back of Grantaire's head, hand buried in Grantaire's dark curls. Montparnasse looked pained. "How could you believe that of me?" 

Grantaire shook his head a little bit. "You abused me, Montparnasse." he said, trying to be brave even though he wanted to curl into a ball and sob. Even though he wanted to drink. Wanted to find a razor blade and hurt himself again. "Now _let go_." 

Montparnasse shook his head. "No, pet. You are coming home with me. And this time," he leaned closer, mouth brushing the curve of Grantaire's ear, "this time, I am never, _ever_ letting you go." 

Grantaire swallowed a sob, a tear escaping to run down his cheek. "No, no, 'Parnasse, please don't do this." he begged, knowing it was futile. "Don't do this to me." his throat felt thick, and his limbs felt like they were full of lead, heavy and unwilling to move, weighed down by fear. 

Montparnasse sighed, thumb stroking Grantaire's cheek. "Pet. Do as I say, or there must be consequences." 

Grantaire froze, remembering previous consequences when he had disobeyed Montparnasse's wishes. His breath sawed from his chest, audible and terrified. Tears ran down his cheeks, and his hands trembled. "N-no, no, please." he begged. "Please." 

There were sounds from the end of the alleyway, and Grantaire and Montparnasse both turned to see. It was the Les Amis, exiting the bar, still laughing and talking as they prepared to go their separate ways. 

"'Taire!" it was Courf's voice, god bless him. "Is that you?" Courf took a step closer to them. 

Montparnasse growled faintly. "I suppose I'll have to come and find you later, pet. Don't you dare try to run from me." he released Grantaire and stepped away, vanishing into the dark shadows. 

Grantaire's mouth parted and he stared at Courfeyrac, barely breathing, with tears on his face. He wiped his cheeks, trembling and feeling like he was about to fall over. His legs shook and his breath trembled. "C-courf." he breathed, taking a wobbling step closer. "Thank god, Courf, I..." he fell into Courfeyrac, breath coming in loud, sawing, desperate gasps as the shock set in. 

Courfeyrac, bless him, wrapped his arms around Grantaire and held him close. "Hello, what's wrong?" he asked, staring at Grantaire's shaking form. "What's happened?" 

Grantaire shook his head quickly. He had never told the other Les Amis about Montparnasse, and he didn't want to. He wouldn't. 

But he knew he couldn't be around them anymore; not when Montparnasse knew how to find them. And through them, find him. He had to cut ties with them somehow, even though he didn't want to. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild trigger warning for a little bit of accident self harm? Also trigger warning for a vague reference to sexual abuse and nonconsensual drug use.

Grantaire pulled away from Courfeyrac after only a few moments of that hug, even if he wanted to collapse into it forever. He cleared his throat faintly. "Ah...I believe I've had too much to drink." he said, looking away. He hadn't told the others about his quest to become sober, and he knew they wouldn't have noticed on their own.

Courf blinked, but nodded a little. "If you say so. Jehan and I can walk you home, if you like."

The other Amis were watching out of the corners of their eyes, and Grantaire swallowed. "I...suppose that might be a good idea, yes." he said, tugging on the cuffs of his dark green shirt and hoping that neither Courf nor Jehan would question him about Montparnasse.

Courf smiled. "Alright. Give us a minute to say goodbye, and we'll be ready."

Grantaire nodded, watching Courf go for a moment, then looked around the group. He caught Enjolras's eye for a moment, making eye contact with the blond, and quickly looked away. It always felt like Enjolras could see straight into his soul, and Grantaire didn't want that right now. Or ever, but especially not now.

Courf and Jehan came over, hand in hand. "Let's go, 'Taire." Jehan said with a soft smile on their face.

Grantaire nodded, and followed the two through the streets as they walked back to their apartment. He tried to figure out what to do. He had to figure out where to go. He had to cut ties with the Les Amis. He didn't want to, but he had to. He couldn't allow Montparnasse to be able to find him ever again.

And if that meant moving out of the apartment he had been sharing with Jehan and Courf, then so be it. He had some savings, he could find a cheap apartment somewhere to stay in. Staying with the two others wasn't an option. Not when it meant Montparnasse could track him down, bring him back.

When they reached the apartment, Courf turned to him.

"So, 'Taire..." He said slowly. "Who was that guy?"

Grantaire cleared his throat faintly. Sure, if Montparnasse had just been a cute guy he'd been kissing in an alley, he wouldn't have minded. But this wasn't just some cute guy. This was _Montparnasse_. "He's...no one." He said slowly, looking around the apartment. "Really."

"You sure? He looked cute, wouldn't mind taking a bite of him myself." Jehan commented, tilting their head.

Grantaire's eyes flashed wide before he caught himself. No. Not sweet, soft Jehan, getting involved with Montparnasse. "No! I-I mean...yeah? He's no one important. I don't even know his name."

Courf wrapped an arm around Jehan's shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the smaller person for a moment, then looking at Grantaire. "Alright, if you say so." He said, then yawned. "I'm going to head to bed." He kissed Jehan's cheek and then moved away, heading to his bedroom.

Jehan smiled a little. "G' night, Courf. I'll be there in a few." They said, waving. Then they turned to Grantaire. "You look anxious. Tea?"

"What?"

"Do you want tea. Or hot chocolate?" Jehan moved to the stove, picking up the kettle in their hands.

Grantaire paused. "I...I don't know." He said slowly. "I don't think so. I'm just going to head to bed too, I think."

Jehan nodded, setting the kettle down. "Of course. Get some sleep, 'Taire. I'll see you in the morning?"

Grantaire nodded, starting to head to his room. "In the morning, Jehan." He replied, and closed his bedroom door. Tomorrow, he had some classes at the University. Art and classic literature. He was going to major in classic literature, but had a side focus in art.

He wondered if maybe he should change universities. If Montparnasse found out what university he was attending, and then...then figured out his class schedule...

He collapsed onto his bed. "Oh God." He whispered. "I'm so fucked." he had to move out, and pull from the university, find a new one. Never contact any of the Les Amis again, no matter how much he would miss them.

The very thought made him want to drink himself into a stupor, and he clutched at his arms, fingernails digging into his skin nearly hard enough to break it. He _liked_ the Les Amis. He didn't want to have to leave them, not when he had finally found people that accepted and maybe even liked him for who he was. But if it came down to it, if it was between safety or the Les Amis...he had to pick safety. And he couldn't tell them. Because if they got involved with Montparnasse, they would get involved with Patron-Minette, and he didn't want that. He knew how vicious the Patron-Minette were; had been to several of their meetings while he was Montparnasse's "pet".

He cringed at the memories, of how Montparnasse would drug him beforehand to make sure he would stay quiet and pliable. He remembered sitting either at Montparnasse's feet or in the man's lap, legs splayed and head leaned back on the other man's shoulders, submissive and drugged out of his mind. He remembered hands, so many hands but usually 'Parnasse's, touching him the entire time.

He shuddered, nails digging harder into his skin and beads of blood welling to the surface. The sharp sting of pain brought him reeling out of the memories, and he covered his face with shaking hands.

He couldn't go back there. Never. Not in a million years would he submit to that willingly, knowing what he was getting into. He stood, mechanically changing out of his clothes and throwing them in the hamper, tugging on a loose t-shirt to sleep in; he wasn't going to bother with pajama pants tonight. There was no point. It was warm enough to go without.

~~**~~

When he awoke in the morning, the sun was peeking through his curtains and casting soft beams of light to play across his room. His easel stood in one corner, draped in a cloth to protect the painting beneath, art supplies on shelving and a desk nearby, without much seeming organization. His dresser was shoved into the closet, leaving more room in the bedroom itself. Much of the floor space was scattered with dirty clothes, and a dropcloth was over in the painting area. Watercolor stains marred the walls by the lightswitch and by the window, where paint-marked fingers had brushed against the pale plaster, leaving ghosts of color behind. Art, both framed and unframed, was hung on the walls and sat against the floor waiting to be hung. Three sketchbooks, each overflowing with loose sheets as well as bound, sat in various locations across the space, and a fourth lay open upon his desk, the page covered in sketches. His laptop was tucked on that same desk, his cell phone sitting haphazardly on the window sill where he must have left it at some point. Paintbrushes poked from the most inconvenient and unorganized spots. A bookshelf took up a large portion of the wall, containing both classics and more recent literature, though mostly classics. The pages of many of these books were ink and paint stained, from eager fingers that hadn't been thoroughly washed of art supplies. Sticky notes adorned the walls, especially near the desk and the easel, with messily handwritten notes scrawled on them. A few contained tiny sketches, saved for later when he had time to make full works out of them. A few candles were tucked away in unobtrusive locations, along with a firelighter.

This room was home, and he couldn't imagine leaving it, though he had lived here only six months. Many of the items he had had before Montparnasse, and they had lingered in storage until he was able to retrieve them. He didn't want to move again, but he had to.

He got dressed for the day, throwing on a green flannel shirt and a pair of jeans, and stumbled tiredly towards the kitchen without bothering to shave off the scruff that had already gathered on his chin and jawline.

"Good morning, Grantaire." Jehan greeted. They were seated at the kitchen island, eating, a single earbud in one of their ears. Grantaire assumed they were either listening to music or to poetry, and as he came around the island, he saw a video playing on their phone and realized it was likely poetry.

"Good morning, Jehan." he replied, heading over to start the kettle for some tea. He liked to always have something to drink, and tea was far better for him than alcohol. "Sleep well?" Grantaire himself had not slept well, dreams plagued by memories of Montparnasse.

"Yes, I did. And you?" Jehan replied politely, lifting their eyes to look at Grantaire inquisitively.

"Ah...I slept fine, I suppose." he replied, shrugging his shoulders and staring at the kettle, wishing it would hurry up and brew.

"Good. Courf left for work already, by the way. Oh!" Jehan reached out to pause their video, then took out the earbud, getting off the stool and grabbing some papers. "By the way. Enjolras dropped these flyers off. He said that he's got the words on them, but he couldn't figure out a good design and would you please ask Grantaire if he has the time to design them for me?" a smile pulled at Jehan's lips, an expression that Grantaire couldn't quite puzzle out the meaning for.

He considered the flyers. "Mm...yeah, I suppose I could." he reached out and took them, studying them. His eyebrow quirked up a little bit. "That's a lot of words, Jehan. There isn't much redesign I can do, not with how many words he's managed to stuff on this thing."

Jehan gave another smile. "I can give you his number, then." they said, reaching for their phone and tapping at it. "You can talk to him about it."

"Wh-" Grantaire narrowed his eyes faintly. "Jehan, there's no reason to give him my number. I can do it, it's fine." his phone pinged distantly from his bedroom, and he sighed, shaking his head.

"Well, you can talk to him about redesigning the flyers, for one thing. It'll be good for you to get more involved. And, for another," Jehan pointed at him with a fork. "He's very handsome and also single and lonely."

Grantaire cleared his throat awkwardly, turning to the whistling tea kettle and pouring hot water into a mug, adding a tea bag. "Jehan, you don't even know if one, I'm interested. Two, if _he's_ interested. And three, if he even likes men."

"Gran _taire_ , I've seen the way your eyes linger on him." Jehan retorted.

"Yes, and? He's aesthetically pleasing." Grantaire replied, not looking at the other. "I'm an artist; it's my job to stare at beautiful things." a faint blush bloomed on his cheeks, and he shook his head a little. "I've stared at you before, you know, but that doesn't mean I'm romantically interested in you."

Jehan waved a hand. "I'm not available even if you were. And besides, you aren't an artist for a living; you're a classic literature major."

Grantaire shook his head again. "Jehan, leave it. I'm not going after Enjolras. I've got enough on my plate. Besides, I doubt he's even interested in men in the first place."

Jehan looked vaguely disappointed, but before they could speak again, their phone began to ring. "We'll continue this conversation later." they told Grantaire, then answered their phone with a chipper "hello?"

Grantaire shook his head, taking a sip of tea and suppressing a yelp when the hot tea nearly burned his tongue. He took the pamphlets to his room with him, closing the door and sitting down at his desk. He needed to work on his schoolwork, and then maybe he would text Enjolras about these flyers. Maybe. If he felt like it.

While working, he also opened up a tab to search for cheap apartments in the area, keeping it open and checking up on it. He would work on these flyers, but he couldn't forget what danger he was in if he stayed with the Les Amis.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Also sorry for the slight drag in the middle of the chapter.

Sometime in the afternoon, the doorbell rang, the sound echoing through the apartment. Grantaire got up to answer, knowing that neither Jehan nor Courfeyrac was here to do so. To his surprise, when he opened the door, Enjolras was standing outside.

"Enjolras?" he said, surprised.

"Oh. I...Jehan said you were working on the flyers?" Enjolras replied, looking at Grantaire with his eyebrows faintly raised.

"I– yes, I am. I'm not quite finished, though. Would...you like to see?" Grantaire had no idea what to do in this situation. "I scanned them and I've been working on them on my laptop." he led Enjolras into the apartment and into his room, trying to ignore how strange it felt to have Enjolras in his bedroom. He reminded himself it was only for the flyers; not anything else. He opened his laptop, clicking on his editing software and pulling up the files. "Here."

Enjolras examined the flyer designs, nodding a little. "They look good, Grantaire. Thank you for your help." blue eyes flickered up to meet Grantaire's, and Grantaire found himself looking away, slightly flustered.

"It's nothing." he replied softly, forcing himself to look at Enjolras again. "I'll email them to the rest of the group, alright?" he didn't understand why Enjolras had thought it necessary to come all the way here, just to look at the flyer design. "Unless there's something else you'd like me to do with them?" damn, Enjolras looked good, the sunlight dancing in his golden curls and his blue eyes bright. He was wearing a red flannel shirt, rolled up to his elbows, open over a black t-shirt, and Grantaire half-wanted to paint him. His fingers itched for a paintbrush.

Enjolras nodded a little, and Grantaire realized he was staring. _Fuck_ , he didn't know where to look. "Alright." Enjolras's voice seemed...almost softer than normal? Grantaire was used to everything Enjolras said sounding like it was of utmost importance, but he sounded almost normal right now.

He smiled a little. "Is that everything, Apollo?"

Enjolras's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Apollo?" he echoed.

Grantaire's eyes widened a little, and he looked away again, clearing his throat. "It's nothing. You just– you look like Apollo, is all."

Enjolras nodded slowly. "The greek god?"

"Yes. That one." Grantaire agreed awkwardly, shifting faintly and wishing desperately that Jehan was here, or Courfeyrac. They always knew how to smooth over any awkwardness. Grantaire, on the other hand, had no idea what to do.

"Why?" Enjolras seemed genuinely confused.

"Well...because you look like him. I already said that. Apollo is, well, typically described or depicted as golden haired and blue eyed, so...that's you." Grantaire replied slowly. Apollo was usually described as _beautiful_ , but there was no way he was going to say that. Not to Enjolras.

"Ah. I see. You're a classics major, _oui_?"

" _Oui_. I...took a year off from studying, but I'm working on my degree again." Grantaire didn't mention why he had had to take a year off. He ran his hands through his curly dark hair, wondering what to say next. Fuck, this was awkward. "Would you like some tea?" he asked slowly, looking at Enjolras.

"Tea sounds good, yes. Unless you have things to do? I can leave." Enjolras replied, edging out of Grantaire's bedroom and heading into the kitchen. Grantaire followed, putting the kettle on the stove.

"No, don't worry about it." Grantaire replied, waving a hand vaguely as he turned to look up at Enjolras. "I've got nothing for now."

Enjolras nodded a little. "Right." they both looked at each other silently for what felt like a very long time, each reluctant to speak first.

"So–" Grantaire broke the silence first, unable to stand it any longer. "What got you into this...activism? The Les Amis, all that?"

Enjolras cocked his head faintly, lips parting as he considered the question. "I think...I was raised in a very rich family, and the things I heard from them...they _knew_ that humanity's actions were destroying the planet, that the upper classes were and are gutting the lower classes for profit, but they...laughed about it. They didn't want to do anything to fix it. They...had this assumption that our family deserved more, just for being rich. And I...I knew that was wrong. That everyone deserves the same treatment, the same quality of care, the same opportunities, irregardless of sex or gender or sexuality or race or social class. When I came here, to university, I met some of the others. Courf, Jehan, Lesgle, Joly. We started the Les Amis, and it's...well. It's definitely grown."

Grantaire nodded a little, considering Enjolras's words carefully. "That makes a lot of sense, actually."

Enjolras's mouth quirked faintly. "Yes, I'd like to think so." the blond replied.

The kettle started to whistle, and Grantaire turned to turn off the stove, getting out a mug and some tea bags. "Pick a tea." he said, pouring himself some peppermint tea. Enjolras did, and Grantaire poured hot water for him as well.

"Thank you." Enjolras said politely, bobbing the tea bag a little bit.

"You're welcome." he sat down at the island, his tea steaming in front of him on the counter. "Is there anything else you need today?" he tapped his foot faintly, still feeling just how awkward this all was, without Jehan or Courf or Joly or someone to serve as a buffer.

Enjolras shook his head. "I'll be on my way when I finish my tea. Unless there's something you needed me for?" his voice tilted up at the end, and he looked to Grantaire.

Grantaire shrugged faintly. "I don't believe so, no." he replied, taking a tiny sip of the tea. It was still a bit too hot to drink, so he blew on it.

Enjolras nodded a little bit. They were quiet as they sipped at their tea, occasionally attempting at conversation that soon fell back into silence. It wasn't a bad silence, per se, it was just a little awkward. The two had never been great friends; they were so different in nearly every aspect. Enjolras finished his tea, and thanked Grantaire before leaving.

Grantaire put the mugs in the dishwasher, heading back to his room and sending out the flyers, wondering why exactly Enjolras had felt it necessary to come here.

~**~

Grantaire had sent out a request to view an apartment, and had received a positive response. As he was getting ready to leave the apartment, Courf returned, eyes flitting over Grantaire inquisitively.

"Where are you going, 'Taire?" he asked, sliding off his shoes and jacket, raising his eyebrows at the dark haired man.

Grantaire wondered if he should tell the truth. If he said he was looking for an apartment, Courf would want to know why. And Courf couldn't know why. Courf couldn't know about Montparnasse, because then he would try and confront the dangerous man, and then...Grantaire didn't want to know what would happen if Courf tried to confront Montparnasse. If Courf tried to interfere with what Montparnasse viewed as his.

"'Taire?" Courf's voice brought Grantaire out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Courf looking at him with a worried expression. "Is everything alright?"

He forced a quick smile, nodding. "Yes, of course. I am quite alright. Just...heading out for a bit, is all." he replied, putting a hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.

"You sure? You look...spooked." Courf's gaze made Grantaire look away, shaking his head vaguely.

"I'm, uhm, I'm sure." he replied, not meeting Courf's eyes. "I've gotta go, Courf. I'll see you and Jehan later, alright?"

"Alright." Courf said slowly, watching as Grantaire opened the door and practically fled from the apartment.

He had no idea what he was going to tell Jehan and Courf when he moved out. They couldn't know how to find him. None of the Les Amis could. He couldn't retain contact with them, not when that meant that Montparnasse would be able to find him through them. So he had to just move out without warning. Cut ties and never look back, even though the thought made his heart ache for the friendships he had grown so accustomed to. He didn't _want_ to have to leave the Les Amis like this, but he would rather be safe and alone than with friends and in danger.

When he arrived at the apartment, he looked up at the building and grimaced. It wasn't in the best shape, and looked like it might fall apart around his ears. It wasn't in a good area of town, either, and he swallowed faintly as he met the landlady who ran the apartment building.

"You must be Grantaire." she said, crossing her arms as she looked at him.

He nodded, running a hand over his hair. "Yeah. Can I look at the apartment?"

She nodded, bringing him inside. The apartment was tiny, with a single small window in the entire apartment. The floors creaked and the walls were vaguely stained. The kitchen was tiny and the appliances old. Even all this wouldn't have dissuaded him, had it not been for the mouse droppings in the corners and the landlady's comment about an infestation. At that, he made up his mind.

He needed an apartment, but not badly enough to move somewhere that was infested with mice. He thanked the landlady for the tour, and left again, walking down the street with his hands tucked in his pockets.

When he reached his own apartment, Jehan greeted him with an excited, loud "Hello!"

"Hi?" he slipped his shoes off, wondering what exactly was going on.

"There's a new member in the Les Amis." Jehan said, looking at Grantaire with a smile.

"Really? Who?" they didn't get new members often enough for it to be common; new members were special.

"Her." Jehan turned their phone screen to Grantaire, showing a selfie of a girl with brown hair and brown eyes, a thin face and shadows beneath those eyes. "Her name's Eponine."

He stiffened, eyes flashing. Eponine...the daughter of Thenardier, one of the leaders of Patron-Minette. Was this because of Montparnasse? Had he put her up to this, to spy on them?

"Grantaire?" Jehan asked, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

His mouth worked for a moment, and he let out a slow breath. "Well. It's nice to see someone new." he replied, mind far away as he wondered if Eponine was here to bring him back to Montparnasse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does Jehan have a picture of Eponine, you ask? Social media, I'd assume. Or maybe they just stalk random girls online. We may never know 🤷


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: nonconsensual nudes (not graphically described), references to abuse

At the next Les Amis meeting, Grantaire "met" Eponine. Of course he had met her before, with Saint-Minette, but most of the time he had been drugged or drunk or both, loose-limbed and boneless in Montparnasse's arms, or lap, or seated on the floor by the man's feet. Grantaire didn't think he had ever met her sober.

The girl arrived after most of the Les Amis were already there, and she looked anxious at ill-at-ease.

"Grantaire! Come meet Eponine!" Jehan called from where they had been introducing her to everyone. Grantaire swallowed and made his way over, hoping this would go well.

"Grantaire, this is Eponine Townsend. Eponine, this is Grantaire." Jehan introduced.

Townsend? Eponine's last name was Thenardier. Why was she lying about it? "It's...nice to meet you." he said slowly, looking at her and wondering if she was here for him, if she was here because of Montparnasse.

She looked up at him, and shock, horror, and fear flashed across her face, before it was hidden away again behind a calm, collected mask. "It's nice to meet you as well. Grantaire, was it?" she asked.

He nodded a little. "Yes." he wondered what exactly that expression had meant. Had she not known he was here? Was she not here for him after all?

Or was she just a very good actor?

Jehan looked between the two, seeming to sense the awkwardness between them. "Have you two...met?"

"No." Grantaire and Eponine said at the same time. Grantaire looked at Eponine in surprise, then at Jehan again.

"Alright...well come on, the meeting's about to start." Jehan headed over to the table, taking a seat.

Grantaire took his normal seat towards the end of the table, picking up the drink he had ordered when he first arrived. Like always, it was non-alcoholic, even though Eponine's presence made him want real alcohol even more.

As the meeting began, Grantaire was quiet, speaking only when Enjolras complimented him for the flyer designs, and then he only spoke to acknowledge the compliment. He kept getting distracted by Eponine, but his eyes always returned to Enjolras, drawn back to the man's golden curls and expressionate face. Always, always drawn back, and he didn't even know why.

At the meeting's end, Grantaire got up and followed Eponine out the door, catching her arm and looking at her as she turned around, eyebrows raised.

"Why are you here?" he asked, glancing around to make sure none of the other Les Amis could hear.

She pulled her arm from his grip, lips flattening. "None of your business, Grantaire." she replied. "Besides, I could ask the same of you."

He clenched his jaw. "I left months ago. Why are you here, now, Eponine?"

She turned her back on him and began to walk away without a word.

"Eponine!" he exclaimed, but didn't chase after her. The other Les Amis were coming, and he didn't want them to think he was harassing her, and there was no way he was going to explain what was really going on.

She didn't look back, merely disappeared down the street. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall and letting out a frustrated breath. He really hoped that she wasn't here to report back to Montparnasse or her father. He hoped she wasn't a mole, sent to tear down this group just because he was part of it, instead of in Montparnasse's bed, where the man thought Grantaire belonged.

"'Taire, why did you take off so fast?" Jehan asked from behind him. Grantaire turned, cocking his head faintly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well– you just...took off after the meeting. Is something going on? You've been behaving strangely lately." Jehan looked worried as they looked at Grantaire.

He shook his head a little. "No, it's nothing." he said quickly. "I'm just...tired, I suppose." he forced a flashing smile, pale blue eyes flashing away after a moment, unable to meet Jehan's eyes for long.

"Are you sure? Enjolras said you were acting strange when he was over to look at the flyers the other day. We're worried about you."

"Jehan, it's really nothing. It's just...my classes are stressful." he lied, eyes flickering around, still not meeting Jehan's eyes. It wasn't truly a lie, in any case. His classes _were_ a bit stressful, after all.

"Alright. If you're sure that's it." Jehan said. "If there's anything I can help with, let me know."

"I will." he lied. "I promise."

~**~

It was later that evening when, back at the apartment, Grantaire's phone rang, a mystery number displayed across the screen. He studied it for a moment. Was it one of his professors? Another student at school? One of the Les Amis? He wasn't sure, but he answered it anyway.

"Hello?"

There was a small silence, and for a moment he wondered if the call had been an accident on the other person's part. Then... _"Hello, pet."_

Grantaire almost dropped the phone, sitting down heavily on his bed, throat suddenly dry. How had Montparnasse gotten his number?

"M–Montparnasse?" he whispered, clutching the phone with trembling hands, breathing already starting to turn fast and uneven. But he couldn't hang up, not without knowing why Montparnasse was calling. "Wh–what do you want?"

_"I want you back, pet, you know that."_

How could Montparnasse make him feel so small and helpless when the man wasn't even here? How could Grantaire be so afraid when Montparnasse was only on the other end of a phone call, not able to harm him?

"N-no, you...you can't...I won't." he forced down the rising panic.

_"Hmm. I'm sending you some pictures. I want you to take a look."_

The phone screen lit up with incoming texts, and Grantaire turned the phone to speaker-mode and then headed to the messaging system, to see the pictures. His hands were shaking so badly that he had to do the password three times before getting it right. When he saw the images, he nearly dropped the phone.

"Wh– where did you...h-how..." his breathing shuddered and he covered his mouth with his free hand. These images...

_"Do you like them?"_ Dark amusement curled through Montparnasse's voice, wrapping a noose around Grantaire's neck.

The images were of Grantaire, in various positions, in various states of dress. In various states of sobriety. The common theme? In every image, he was submitting to Montparnasse, letting the dark-haired man do whatever he wanted to. In every image, he was nearly completely undressed. On his knees, on his back, on his stomach.

His breathing came in short, sharp gasps, and he shook his head, a soft whine pulling from his throat. "N-no...no, Montparnasse..." he whispered.

_"I wonder what your friends would think of these images."_ Montparnasse mused, a low chuckle rumbling through the phone.

"No! No, no, Montparnasse, please." he begged, voice trembling and chest shaking as he tried to suck in enough air. Tears pricked at his eyes as he imagined what the Les Amis would do, if they knew about these images.

_"Give me one reason why I shouldn't."_

"I...I..." he couldn't breathe. Tears slid down his cheeks. "Please." he begged in a whisper. "Please don't, Montparnasse. Don't, please."

_"I remember how much I love hearing you beg." ___

__He let out a faint sob, remembering, too, how Montparnasse would make him beg. He shook his head, lips parted and tears running down his cheeks. "No." he breathed, trembling and rocking faintly, breath coming in sharp gasps. "Please no."_ _

___"Keep these under consideration next time I see you and ask you something, Grantaire. I have no problem sharing them with the world."_ Montparnasse hung up._ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W for thoughts of self-harm
> 
> Sorry for making you wait so long, I had Covid

Grantaire didn't hardly sleep that night, too entrenched in his mind, hands shaking every time he picked up his phone, every time he remembered those images that Montparnasse had sent him.

It was a long night, composed mostly of him staring blankly at the wall or at the screen of his phone until it died, shifting and trembling and occasionally crying just a little bit as he tried to figure out where to go from here, what he could do. No way was Montparnasse going to leave him alone after this. Grantaire had no choice. He had to leave, and leave _soon_.

At six, he headed into the kitchen, after checking in the mirror that his face wasn't overly blotchy or red from crying; he didn't want Jehan or Courf to ask too many questions about his appearance, and have to answer them. He started a kettle of tea, sitting down on one of the bar stools and looking blankly at the counter, spacing out until the shrill whistle of the hot water shook him from his bleak thoughts.

He poured the water to start the tea brewing, hoping he hadn't woken Courf or Jehan. The two weren't usually up until about seven, so it was an hour too early for them.

He sat at the counter, sipping his tea and staring blankly into space, mind going in circles as he tried to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now. Where was he going to go? How was he going to live? How was he going to stay out of Montparnasse's grasp?

He didn't know, and the thought sent shivers of cold terror racing through his body until it settled in his stomach like a chunk of ice, dripping the cold water of fear through his body, sending out the destructive force of panic until his whole body was a glacier of terror and anxiety, the hot tea only chipping hopelessly at the cold that had seeped into his blood and bones.

At seven, he was shaken from his thoughts by Courf entering the kitchen, shuffling and tired looking, with his hair sticking up in sleepy tufts.

"Mornin', 'Taire." he greeted in a soft, tired mumble, starting up the coffee machine and leaning against the counter.

Grantaire forced a fumbling, flickering smile that was soon crushed away by that glacier of fear that had settled inside of him. "Good morning." he breathed, hardly able to summon his voice. His throat felt so tight with his panic, and he took another sip of the tea, hoping that would steady him.

"You alright?" Courf asked, cocking his head and looking at Grantaire carefully. "You look exhausted."

"Pulled an all-nighter." he lied, not looking at Courf as he tried to get a handle on his breathing. What if Jehan or Courf had heard him talking to Montparnasse last night, or heard him crying? What if they had heard the way his breathing had sawed in and out of his chest, tearing at his lungs as he sucked desperately for air?

"'Taire, that's not good for you." Courf frowned a little bit. "We've talked about this."

He hummed vaguely, rubbing a hand over his chest and shrugging his shoulders, still not looking up at Courf. "Guess I forgot." he swallowed thickly, feeling frozen to his seat with worry that somehow Courf _knew_.

Courf frowned again. "No you didn't. You don't forget things like that."

"Fine, I didn't. I just stayed up anyways." Grantaire snapped, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little bit. He hadn't meant to snap at Courf, he really didn't, but...he was so tired, and everything with Montparnasse had made him so very anxious...he just couldn't deal with the argument right now. He couldn't. Not with the way his heart was in his throat from anxiety, not with the way his breathing was still shaking and his hands trembled.

"I...didn't mean to push, I'm sorry." Courf said slowly. "Are you alright?"

Grantaire took in a deep breath. "I'm fine." he said, opening his eyes and forcing himself to stand and go back to his bedroom. He needed to find an apartment _today_. No more waiting. He needed to get away, make sure none of the Les Amis could find him again.

So he spent the rest of the day emailing or calling about various apartments, even going to a few. Two days later, he had located an apartment and signed a contract. Two days after that, while Courf and Jehan were at work, he moved out and into the new one, leaving a note behind on the counter that read, _"Moved out. Not your fault, just need space of my own. Won't be back."_ He couldn't stand to write anything more than that. He wished he could stay, but it just wouldn't be feasible. He couldn't. Not when it would involve Montparnasse.

After that, his days settled into a rhythm. Get up, eat, go to work, come home, work on his schoolwork, eat, art, sleep, repeat. He never responded to texts, calls, or emails from the Les Amis, and eventually their attempts at contact began to fade away as they realized he wouldn't answer them.

He wouldn't admit, even to himself, that he missed them terribly. He had grown used to having friends, to having that support network around him, and now he had ripped himself away from that. Now he had no one.

Now he was alone. Safe, but completely alone. He didn't dare reestablish contact with any of the Les Amis. This was just the way his life had to be now, in order to stay safe from Montparnasse.

But even so, he found himself haunting the bars and pubs that the Les Amis had frequented, sequestering himself in the corner with a drink and longing to see one of them, hoping that they would come in if only so he could see them for a moment and know that they were alright. He would sit there all evening long, sipping at a drink and waiting to see if anyone would come.

No one ever came on the nights he was there.

He didn't dare to go at the same time as one of their meetings; he would be seen and recognized, and he didn't know if he had it in him to walk away from them again.

Tonight was another of those nights where he sat in a bar and waited to see if they would come, nursing a drink and wishing that it could be alcoholic instead of just flavored water, with a hint of carbonation. It had been slowly going flat all night as he sipped at it, growing warmer as the ice melted. None of the Les Amis had come. They never did, he wasn't sure why he even did this anymore.

He was lying to himself, though; he knew why he came here, and it was because he was so lonely, so desperate to see them again, just to know that he wasn't completely alone. They texted sometimes, but he didn't dare respond. Just left them on "Read" and didn't respond when they called. The calls and texts had petered off as they realized he would not answer. Which was good, he told himself. It was good, because it removed the temptation to pick up the phone when someone called. Even Enjolras had texted and called a few times, which had surprised him; he wasn't aware the blonde man cared.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing as he looked around the bar and shaking his head. This was ridiculous. Ridiculous. They were never here when he was; he should stop trying, move on. But he couldn't. He couldn't make himself completely close the door on the Les Amis, not when they had been so good to him. Not when he still yearned for that easy, kind friendship he had once had with them. His fingers tapped absently against his glass, dark smudges beneath his grey-blue eyes. A light dust of stubble covered his jawline; he hadn't been shaving, there wasn't much of a reason to. Some days he didn't get out of bed until noon. He just didn't have the energy. Some nights he woke up gasping and crying from nightmares that slipped away when he opened his eyes, but that left him shaky and trembling for the rest of the day. Some days he barely ate, not remembering to and not feeling all that hungry. His health was going down the drain, now that Courf and Jehan weren't around to help him remember and to keep him healthy. His nightmares were growing worse and worse, his panic attacks more and more frequent.

More and more, he stared at the blades of his razor and wanted to feel them bite into his flesh just to be able to _feel_ something again.

He knew that these were symptoms of depression, anxiety, PTSD, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about them. He kept telling himself he didn't need therapy, didn't need medication, and without anyone else around to see what he was becoming...there was no one to make him get help. His mental health was deteriorating, and there was no one to save him because he had pushed them away. He was alone because of his own actions. There was no one left to save him from himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive!! So sorry for not updating for so long!  
> Warning: this chapter contains: non-consensual drug use (put a drug in someone's drink), references to self-harm and suicidal thoughts, and alcoholism. Please proceed with caution if any of these things trigger you

Two months passed like this, Grantaire settling into a rhythm, friendless and alone and unable to stop himself as his health continued to drop down the drain, as he lost weight and developed dark shadows under his eyes, as he broke his own promise to stay sober and started drinking again, just to take away the emptiness inside of him that threatened to devour him if he wasn't careful.

He wasn't careful. He flung himself into that empty void, desperate for it to take away the shakiness and the fear and the longing taht had rooted itself inside of him, and it didn't work. He just got worse. His curly brown hair was longer than it had ever been, nearly brushing his shoulders, and sometimes three weeks would pass before he remembered to shave. Sometimes he forgot to shower for a week, and then when he did he would stand under the water for an hour, staring blankly at the floor or the wall.

Some days he would haunt the bars the Les Amis had frequented, drinking to forget the memories that tugged at him. Some days he would stare at the messages from the Les Amis until his phone died, just to pretend he still had anyone who cared about him. Just to pretend that he mattered. Just to pretend that people would miss him if he died.

Montparnasse hadn't contacted him again, and Grantaire didn't know if that scared him or relieved him. It meant that his leaving the Les Amis had worked, hopefully, but somehow that didn't make anything better. It didn't make it any better, not when his eyes were red and bloodshot and he had cried all the tears he had left to cry. Not when his heart ached so desperately for a friend, for someone to touch his shoulder or hug him and say "it's alright, Grantaire. We're here for you".

He hadn't been able to stop himself from returning to drinking. Not when the alternative was facing this empty brokenness with nothing to shield him from any of it. Not when the alternative meant feeling so much pain that he wanted to go into the bathroom and cut so deep he would never recover. So he drank. He did his best, at first, to only drink in the evenings and at bars, to not have alcohol in the house, but it was only three weeks before he failed at that, too, bringing home alcohol and then starting to take sips whenever he felt he needed it. He spent his days slightly buzzed, drinking even more at night.

His routine was broken when, one night at a bar, he saw someone he hadn't expected to see. At first, from the back, he hadn't recognized the tall man sitting across the room. He had squinted, thinking the shape was familiar, but then had brushed it off; after all, he was here a lot, maybe this guy was just another regular like him. It wasn't until Grantaire was on his third drink of the night that the man turned around and suddenly, he recognized him.

That was Montparnasse, sitting across the bar from Grantaire, and when their eyes met, Montparnasse gave a smile that sent a chill through Grantaire's bones.

Grantaire finished his drink hurriedly, paid, and moved towards the door, intending to try and escape before Montparnasse came after him. Had he been sober, he would have known it was hopeless. Half-drunk, though, all he knew was that he was terrified, and didn't want to be around this man, at all costs.

Montparnasse blocked his way, one hand encircling Grantaire's wrist. "Where are you off to so fast, pet?" he said with a dark smile, bending closer to Grantaire until his lips brushed against the other man's ear.

Grantaire shuddered. "N-no, I..." he licked his lips anxiously, mouth suddenly dry. "Let me go." he whispered, green eyes looking up at Montparnasse, fear shining in his gaze.

Montparnasse smirked a little. "There's no rush, lovely. Let me buy you a drink." he pulled Grantaire back towards the bar, and Grantaire followed helplessly, tugging at the hand around his wrist but unable to so much as budge Montparnasse's grip.

Montparnasse sat down, pulling Grantaire into the seat next to him as he ordered. Grantaire didn't hear what he ordered, too distracted by the way his blood thundered in his ears, by the hand around his wrist that was so revoltingly familiar. He was trembling, he realized after a moment, hands shaking where they lay along his legs.

Montparnasse handed Grantaire a glass. "Drink up, lovely." he said, lifting his glass to Grantaire for a moment, before taking a sip.

Grantaire knew what was expected of him, and drank, helpless to do otherwise, not with Montparnasse holding onto him like this. He set the glass down after only a sip, hoping that had been enough.

Montparnasse clicked his tongue. "No no, pet, the whole glass." he said, setting down his own glass to nudge Grantaire's glass toward him. "I paid for this; you're going to drink it." there was a threat somewhere in Montparnasse's voice, but Grantaire couldn't figure out what it was, the alcohol he'd already drunk fuzzing his mind.

So he drank, not seeing any alternative. He drank the whole glass like an obedient little pet, just like Montparnasse had trained him to do over a year ago.

"Good boy." Montparnasse praised, his free hand reaching up to stroke Grantaire's hair. Grantaire leaned helplessly into that gentle touch, realizing too late that Montparnasse must have drugged the drink, that Grantaire's mind was growing far too fuzzy and confused for it to have been just a normal drink. "You've been such a good boy tonight, pet." he cooed, hand going to Grantaire's chin, lifting it so that they could meet eyes. " _Such_ a good boy, and good boys should be rewarded, isn't that right?"

Grantaire nodded before he realized what he was doing, and forced himself to stop. The drinks and the drug had fuzzed his mind over so much, clouded his senses and his thinking and now he was slipping right back into the way he used to be with Montparnasse, obedient and submissive and terrified. "N...no..." he whispered, licking his lips faintly.

Montparnasse arched an eyebrow. "No what, pet? No, you don't want a reward? Or no, you haven't been a good boy? If it's the latter..." he sighed. "You're right, of course. You haven't been a good boy, and bad boys are punished. Is that what you want? You want to be _punished_?"

Grantaire trembled, shaking his head desperately, blinking away tears that threatened to spill. "N-no, no, I-I..." he didn't know what he wanted. He...he didn't like this. Montparnasse scared him but he couldn't remember why. Knew he needed to leave, but couldn't remember why. Montparnasse's touch was so gentle and it had been so long since anyone had touched him, so _long_...a broken sound broke free from his mouth, and he leaned into Montparnasse's hand, trembling and on the edge of tears, and he didn't even know why.

"Sshh, it's alright." Montparnasse murmured, stroking Grantaire's hair, _petting_ him, and god damn him but it was so soothing and so gentle that Grantaire pushed into Montparnasse's hand, a little sound of contentment managing to leave his lips, and all he knew was that he hated himself for liking this touch, but not why he hated himself for it.

"Come with me, pet. Come on." Montparnasse said gently, pulling Grantaire to his feet and leading him from the bar, Grantaire stumbling behind him, trying to concentrate on not falling, on not hurting himself. Montparnasse took him out to the alley, and pressed Grantaire against the wall, those dark eyes narrowing. "I've missed you, pet."

The words should have made him feel better, Grantaire realized hazily, but the tone didn't match the words and it only confused him. He blinked up at Montparnasse, struggling to focus.

"You were so _bad_ , pet, you ran away from me." Montparnasse suddenly gripped his chin in a near-bruising grip. "And I'm sorry, but that means I'm going to have to punish you."

Grantaire trembled, unable to break the hold Montparnasse had on him, and unable to remember why he needed to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days?!  
> Warning: this chapter contains threats and allusions to sexual violence, along with very depressed thoughts and self-harm. If any of these things trigger you, please proceed with caution

Montparnasse had Grantaire pinned to the wall in the alleyway, the rough brick scraping against Grantaire's neck and the back of his arms; he could feel it through his shirt.

"Please." he whispered, begged, not knowing what he was even begging for anymore.

"Mm, please what, pet?" Montparnasse queried, leaning forward to mouth at Grantaire's skin.

Grantaire let out a faint sound that was half a sob and half a groan, unsure if he wanted this or if this was the drugs or if even without them, he still would have returned to this, still would have let Montparnasse treat him like this. "Please, n-no, 'Parnasse, I...I-I don't want this, please." he whispered. It took all of his concentration to even form the words into a sentence, to give his words any meaning, the drugs making it so very hard to think.

Montparnasse's mouth brushed down to Grantaire's neck, abusing the sensitive spot there, and Grantaire gasped, blinking hard and trying not to melt like putty as Montparnasse abused and tormented the one spot on his neck in a way that Montparnasse _knew_ Grantaire liked, the man turning Grantaire's own body into a weapon against him. "You sure about that, pet?"

He whimpered and hated himself for it, leaning his head against the bricks, mind spinning. "I-I...y- ..." he had to break off to bite down on his lip to contain another gasp, as Montparnasse continued his efforts, marking Grantaire's neck."Yes!" he finally said in a rush. "I'm s-sure, 'Parnasse, I-I don't...this isn't..." he squirmed faintly, trying to escape the iron hold that Montparnasse had trapped him in. "This isn't what I want."

Montparnasse moved back to look at Grantaire. "Really? You don't want to come back to where you belong? With _me_?" he asked, those dark eyes staring into Grantaire.

He blinked away tears, shaking his head desperately, unable to form a sentence, not with the drugs still in his system, too much of his concentration just on staying focused, not floating away in a haze.

Montparnasse sighed. "I didn't want to do this, Grantaire. I'd hoped you would realize your place and come back to me on your own, but it would seem the only thing that could get you to come is threats." he pulled one hand away to pull out his phone, and Grantaire waited with his heart in his throat to see what Montparnasse would do. "Those friends of yours? The...Les Amis?" he showed Grantaire what was obviously a candid photo from across the bar, of the Les Amis and Eponine in a bar, talking together. Grantaire's eyes flickered over all those achingly familiar faces; Joly, Jehan, Bousset, Courf. Enjolras, at the head of the table, golden curls framing his earnest, intelligent face. Grantaire swallowed faintly, looking up at Montparnasse.

Montparnasse's mouth twisted faintly. "They're a lovely bunch, you know. All so attractive in their own ways. They would be so much fun to break." he smirked down at Grantaire. "I think I'll start with that soft one, the one you shared an apartment with. Jehan, yes?" Grantaire's heart plummeted from his throat to his toes, horror painting his face white at the thought of Montparnasse getting ahold of any of the Les Amis, especially Jehan. "I'll save that delicious looking blonde for last." his voice was low, dark, a threat carried in whispers to Grantaire's horrified ears. "And I'll make sure they all know why I'm doing it to them. That you refused me, and so I took them instead. I will _break_ them, pet, until they forget all those ideals they have and live only to serve me and whoever I gift them too. Perhaps you'll even see them again, sprawled in my bed, ripe for the taking."

Grantaire shuddered, tears pricking at his eyes. "N-no, no, Montparnasse, please. P-please don't...don't hurt them, please..." he begged, a sob leaving his mouth. "Please, no, _no_."

Montparnasse smirked faintly. "And why not, pet? If I cannot receive my satisfaction from you, then why not take it from them?"

"I-I...I..." he shook his head, another little sob leaving his mouth as tears finally spilled down his cheeks. " _Please_." he whispered in a broken voice, begging for Montparnasse to please, please don't do this.

"Oh, I always did like it when you begged." Montparnasse chuckled, his thumb roughly swiping away one of Grantaire's tears, smearing it across the brunet's cheekbone. "My little pet, you really don't think you can just leave me and not have consequences. I should think I trained you better than that. Good boys get rewards, bad boys get punished, and you have been so _very_ naughty."

Grantaire sobbed quietly, hanging his head slightly so that he didn't have to meet Montparnasse's eyes any longer. "No..." he breathed, begged, shaking his head desperately, brown curls brushing against his cheeks. "Please, please Montparnasse. Please, I-I...please."

Montparnasse hummed. "Tell you what, pet. I'll give you a few days to think about it. You have two choices: come back to me again, and I shall leave your friends alone, or don't come back, and I shall start taking your friends, one at a time, and I shall send you pictures of them all, after they're broken, and you can know that it is all your fault." Montparnasse stepped back. "I'll be waiting for your choice, pet." he slid a hand down Grantaire's body, before turning and walking away, leaving Grantaire leaning unsteadily against the wall, tears running down his cheeks.

Grantaire sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands, shoulders trembling with silent sobs. This choice was no choice at all; his friends did not deserve Montparnasse's cruelty, did not deserve what the man would do to them. He sniffled, rubbing at his face. He already knew what he had to choose, knew that Montparnasse had known this was no choice at all, knew that the other man was manipulating him again, that Grantaire was falling right back into the trap again. But it was no contest at all. All of his friends, tormented by Montparnasse, or just him?

He shuddered, forcing himself to his feet and somehow making his way home, barely managing to make it to the bathroom before he was throwing up from the drugs and the alcohol, his entire body shaking and trembling as he clung to the edge of the toilet, throwing up the contents of his stomach until all that was coming up was bile, and even then he still heaved and coughed and sobbed, silently begging for someone, anyone to come and save him.

But no one was coming. Grantaire was no fair maiden and there were no knights left in the world, no princes to slay his dragons or kindly magicians to banish his demons. There was only him, alone, isolated, and broken, and a choice that was no choice at all.

He wished desperately that he could see the Les Amis again, that he could cling to Courf or Jehan and cry into their shoulder. He'd even settle for Enjolras, Apollo, the golden-haired leader who had always seemed too good for Grantaire, too bright and brilliant and so out of his league, and here, in the silence of his bathroom, sobbing and broken and knowing he would return to Montparnasse like a beaten dog returns to its owner, he finally was able to admit to himself that he was attracted to Enjolras, had always been attracted to Enjolras, and now it was too late.

But maybe that was for the best; god knew that Grantaire wasn't good enough for anyone, and certainly not someone as good and brilliant as Enjolras. And he had always known that, had always kept his quiet longing in the back of his mind, never acknowledging it because of course Enjolras could never care for him. Who would care for him, a broken drunk with so much baggage that most nights he wanted to die?

So no, he had no choice but to return to Montparnasse. Montparnasse was cruel and terrible and Grantaire hated him, but if Grantaire was good, if Grantaire was obedient, if Grantaire listened, if Grantaire was perfect, then maybe Montparnasse wouldn't treat him so harshly. Maybe Montparnasse would be gentle and kind and the idea just made Grantaire sob harder, because he knew it would never, ever happen. That Montparnasse would never be gentle and kind, because Grantaire would never deserve it. Because Grantaire could never be so good, could never be enough for anyone. He didn't deserve to be loved.

A dark chasm had opened inside of him and he was reaching blindly for his razor as he sobbed, fumbling as he managed to free a blade, holding onto it and nearly slitting his fingers with it, chest heaving as he rolled back the sleeve of his shirt and pressed and oh, god, he knew he shouldn't but the familiar bite of pain in his skin quieted the voices in his head that told him he would never be enough, he could never be loved.

The blood that welled to the surface was his absolution and his damnation, the cut that wept blood the way his eyes wept tears the only way he could vent the pain that had built inside of him, and before he knew what he was doing, the razor blade came down again and a second cut joined the first, neither deep enough to kill but deep enough to _hurt_ , deep enough that all he could focus on was the pain in his arm instead of the pain in his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really any major warnings for this chapter, that I can think of, except for references to self-harm, but no self-harm is actually depicted in the chapter
> 
> Also I wrote the first half of the chapter while listening to "Lovely" by Billie Eilish and DJ Khalid, and I'm not saying you should listen to that while reading the first half, but...that's exactly what I'm saying haha

Grantaire awoke the next morning curled in his bed, the blankets tugged over his body and bandaids slapped over his wrist. He had hazy memories of eventually leaving the bathroom, putting those bandaids on, and tumbling into bed. His eyes stung from all the tears he had cried, and he knew that the skin around them was probably red and irritated, and that his eyes were bloodshot. On top of that, his head pounded with a headache, the effects of the hangover, and his chest still had an empty, aching hole inside of him, that would never be filled.

He stumbled into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and taking a big gulp, before starting the tea kettle for hot water. He slumped against the kitchen counter, closing his eyes tightly and letting out trembling breaths.

Montparnasse's ultimatum had floated into the forefront of his mind almost as soon as he woke up, tormenting him. He sniffled quietly, wiping at his eyes and getting up to take care of the tea kettle when it began to whistle, pouring it out into a mug with a tea bag to steep, his breathing slightly shaky as he tried to figure out what he was going to do.

He sipped at the tea and stared at the wall numbly, the cuts on his arm stinging faintly each time he bent his wrist. He wrapped a blanket around himself and closed his eyes tight, cupping his tea in both hands as he sipped at it, trying to soothe himself.

~~**~~

When Montparnasse called him, he answered, closing his eyes and holding the phone to his ear with the air of a man on death row. "Hello?" he asked in a voice barely louder than a whisper, dry and cracking faintly.

"Hello, pet." Montparnasse's dark voice curled through his ears and his mind, and he shuddered. "Have you made your decision yet?"

"I...I..." he licked his lips faintly, clutching at the phone. "I-I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Grantaire could practically hear Montparnasse raising his eyebrow at this, knew the other man would be intrigued by the idea.

"I-I'll...I'll spend my nights with you if you let me have the days to myself." he breathed, closing his eyes. If Montparnasse would accept this, then maybe Grantaire could retain some measure of freedom. "A-and, uhm, you aren't allowed to make me keep anything inside for, for the whole day." Montparnasse used to make him do that. Used to leave toys inside Grantaire for the whole day, not let him take them out. "But, I'll come back to you at night and...and you can do what you want. And, uh, you..." he trailed off, trying to collect his thoughts. "And I'll stay for the whole day one day a week. So six...six days a week are mine, and you get me every night and...and one day." he silently prayed Montparnasse would accept this.

There was silence for a long time, and Grantaire knew Montparnasse was considering these details, considering these conditions and rules. "And what's stopping me from just ignoring these rules and conditions, pet?" he asked, and Grantaire could hear the amusement in that voice.

"I-I..." he trailed off, biting his lip and trying to think of a reason that Montparnasse would accept. "B-because, uhm..."

"Yes?"

"It'll be more of a, ah, challenge." he finally said. "F-for you, I mean."

"Maybe so. If I am to follow this arrangement, though, I have some terms of my own: you have to be in my home by ten o'clock every night, and if you aren't, then the agreement becomes null and void and I get you 24/7, without these conditions of yours. And, when you are mine, you must follow every command I give and accept everything I do to you. Am I understood?" Grantaire could hardly believe it. Was Montparnasse really going to agree?

"I...I understand." Grantaire whispered, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Montparnasse to change his mind, to say he was only kidding, that he had no intentions of following through with this.

"Good, pet. What do you have to say to me?"

"I...thank you." he said after a moment.

"Thank you what, pet? What do you call me?"

Grantaire closed his eyes again, shame curdling inside of him. "...thank you, m-master." he breathed, hating Montparnasse and hating himself.

"Good pet." Montparnasse's voice caressed him gently. "I'll expect you in my home at ten this evening. Don't be late." Then he hung up.

Grantaire set the phone down, his hands trembling, his breathing shaky. He could hardly believe that it had...it had worked. He wasn't free, not exactly, but his days were his. Most of them, anyway.

He sat upright with a realization: he could go back to the Les Amis, now. At least attend meetings again. Now that he didn't need to worry that Montparnasse would snatch him away by force...he could see his friends again.

He glanced at the time, and knew he still had an hour or so before the meeting would begin, and he got up to take a shower. In the time since Montparnasse had drugged him that evening, he had cut more, just for an outlet for the pain and self-hatred that had swirled in his body, and as he showered, he was careful not to reopen those cuts, all of which were still healing, scabbed lines on his wrists.

Getting out of the shower, he got dressed, putting on jeans and a deep green cable knit sweater, his dark curls still longer than they had been in a very long time, brushing against his shoulders from how long they had grown out.

He looked exhausted when he looked in the mirror, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, stubble collecting on his jawline and his shoulders slumped. His hands were no longer stained with the paint that had once been a permanent establishment on his fingers; he hadn't had the motivation to paint in nearly a month now. But he was still Grantaire. And he was going to see his friends tonight. He tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace, and that was when he noticed the heavy sadness in his own eyes; the way his eyes looked haunted and dark and afraid, an expression that he had grown so used to seeing that he no longer questioned it. But the Les Amis would. Courf and Jehan would. Maybe even Enjolras would, though he doubted it.

He didn't know what he would tell them.

He read while he waited for the time to pass, trying to bury himself into a classic novel. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley had always been one of his favorites, and so he tried to lose himself in the words, tried to follow Victor and the Creature through the complicated web of the story, of morality and playing god.

Eventually, he set the book aside and slipped on his shoes to leave, and locked the apartment behind him as he started walking for the bar, less empty than he had been in months. He didn't know if he could call it happiness, not when he still felt so cold and numb, but he felt less empty, less numb, so maybe he could at least call it something positive. Some sort of positive feeling.

When he arrived at the bar, he paused for a long moment outside the door, suddenly anxious. What if they didn't care about him anymore? What if they didn't want to see him anymore?

He took a deep breath and forced himself to walk inside, forced himself to go to the bartender and order a drink. He ordered alcohol out of habit, hating that this was his habit but not wanting to deal with stopping, not right now. So he sat at the bar and watched the door and waited to see if any of the Les Amis would arrive. What if they had changed their meeting schedules? What if they didn't come? He bit his lip a little, still waiting for them to show up.

And eventually, they did. Joly, Bousett, and Musichetta all arrived at the same time, arm in arm, laughing and sitting down at the big table the Les Amis always sat at, the only one big enough to hold them all. They didn't see Grantaire, too enveloped in each other to look around the bar.

Eponine arrived eventually as well, and though she saw Grantaire, she didn't speak or move towards him, merely sat down at the table and began talking with the others.

Jehan arrived with Courf, and Jehan saw Grantaire first. Their eyes lit up and they tugged Courf over, grabbing Grantaire in a hug before the man could even move.

"'Taire, oh my god! Where have you been? We missed you so much!" they said, and Grantaire hugged Jehan back, almost crying at this first gentle, loving touch that he had felt in two months.

"I missed you guys too." he said, wrapping his other arm around Courf as the other man joined in the hug.

"Where have you _been_?" Courf demanded. "I called and called and called and you never answered me, Grantaire. I thought you were _dead_!"

"I'm not dead." he said simply. "I just...I'm sorry." he didn't know how to answer the question of where he had been, not without telling them about Montparnasse, and that would put them all in too much danger from Montparnasse and Saint-Minette. He still wondered what Eponine was doing with them.

"You better be. We've all been worried sick. Even Enjolras, for god's sake, and you _know_ how that man is." Courf said, pulling away to lead Grantaire and Jehan over to the table.

Enjolras had arrived at some point, and looked up when Courf and Jehan came over, his eyes finding Grantaire's almost immediately. "Grantaire!" he exclaimed. "You're back."

Grantaire bit his lip faintly. "Yeah. I'm back." he agreed quietly, looking up at Enjolras and drinking in the sight of the tall blond man, with those beautiful blue eyes that looked at Grantaire with a strange mix of emotions that Grantaire couldn't even begin to identify.

Enjolras looked away for a moment, then at Grantaire again, and the two stared at each other for a long moment. "You're drinking again." the blond blurted, and Grantaire was broken from the spell of Enjolras's eyes with a jolt.

"Sorry- what?" Grantaire asked, glancing down at the glass in his hand, then up at Enjolras again.

"I, uh, when you were with us before, you always ordered drinks without any alcohol in them. That's alcohol. I assumed you were trying to stay sober and just wanted to keep that quiet." Enjolras replied, studying Grantaire.

"I...yeah, but I thought no one noticed?" why had Enjolras noticed that? How had Enjolras noticed that?

"Well." Enjolras skimmed a hand over his hair. "I did." he looked vaguely...embarrassed? Why would Enjolras be embarrassed?

"Oh." was the only response Grantaire could muster, still unsure how to take this revelation that Enjolras had noticed. Enjolras had paid attention to him. Why? There must be a reason.

"Ah, anyway, it's good to have you back." Enjolras said, clearing his throat and sitting down again. "The others have, ah, missed you."

"Oh, bullshit." Courf spoke up. "You missed him too, Enjolras, don't pretend you didn't."

Enjolras picked up some papers, carefully organizing them and not looking at Courf. "Just take a seat, you three. We need to get this meeting started."

Courf rolled his eyes, and he, Grantaire, and Jehan sat down at the table as the meeting began.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains description of non-graphic rape, please proceed with caution if this triggers you. If this triggers you, you can choose to skip the last half of the chapter, which is where the rape happens. It is non-graphic and non-sexualized, but it does happen. Again, please proceed with caution

After the meeting, Grantaire hung around to talk with Courf and Jehan, and Enjolras a little bit.

"You look exhausted." Jehan remarked. "And your hair has grown out. Is everything alright, Grantaire?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, half of him wanting to say no, tell them everything, but he knew he couldn't. Shouldn't. That it would only lead to trouble if he did.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just...tired. I haven't been sleeping well." he toyed with the sleeve of his shirt, making sure it hadn't slipped up. He didn't want them to see the bandaids covering the cuts on his wrist.

"You sure?" Jehan asked, looking worried as they studied Grantaire.

He forced himself to still, taking a sip from his drink. "Yeah." he said in a quiet tone. "I'm...sure." he took a deep breath, mustering up a faint, vague smile for them.

Courf studied Grantaire for a little, and Grantaire had to resist the urge to squirm under Courf's gaze. "You really worried all of us, Grantaire." he said after a moment. "You just...up and vanished and wouldn't return any messages or calls. I thought...I don't know what I thought."

Grantaire bit his lip faintly. "I'm sorry." he said.

"Where did you go, Grantaire? Why did you..." Courf trailed off, shaking his head slightly.

"I-" he broke off, unsure what to say to Courf and Jehan, what would satisfy their curiosity. "I'm sorry." he said again, closing his green eyes for a moment.

Jehan let out a faint sigh. "Enjolras was worried. _Enjolras_. That man wouldn't know a strong emotion if it hit him in the face, and he was worried about you."

Grantaire blinked, eyes flickering to where Enjolras sat at the table, shuffling through papers, then he looked at Jehan again. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Jehan's mouth quirked. "He kept asking Courf and I if we knew where you were, Grantaire. Hell, I know he called you a few times himself. I think he pays closer attention to you than you know."

Grantaire swallowed faintly, thinking of the attraction he had finally let himself realize, then shook his head quickly to try and clear it. "He's just- that's who he is, that's all. He pays attention to everyone. It's nothing special." he dismissed it with words and a wave of his hand. "Anyway, what about that girl? Eponine? Is she still...part of the Les Amis?"

"Yeah, she's been a great addition to the group." Courf said. "She's quiet, but seems to be very intelligent. There's also a new guy. He wasn't here tonight, but his name's Marius Pontmercy. Dreamy kind of kid, not really sure he knows what he's in for." he shrugged a shoulder slightly. "But he isn't bad, I suppose."

Grantaire nodded a little, setting his drink aside and letting out a quiet breath. "I see. Anything else I should know about?"

Jehan and Courf thought for a moment, then they shook their heads. "Not that I can think of." Jehan said. "It's been pretty much business as normal. We missed you, though."

"I know, you've said that like five times." Grantaire laughed a little, but the sound was hollow as he looked at the clock and realized it was already nine, that he had to leave in thirty minutes to be on time to Montparnasse. "I'm...I'm really sorry, Jehan." he took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself, fortify his heart with this time with his friends, before he left them again, and went back to the man who loved to break him.

Jehan nodded their head a little. "Of course. Are you going to move back in with us?"

Grantaire wished he could say yes, but the truth was, how would he explain that he would never spend a night in his own bed? That every night he would be gone, to be used and abused by Montparnasse, that this was the price he had to pay, that this was all he would ever deserve. So he shook his head, and didn't meet Jehan's eyes. "No. I'm sorry. I...I need my own space."

"Oh." god, Grantaire could hear the hurt in just that word, but he couldn't move back in with them. He just couldn't.

They chatted and talked and laughed for another thirty minutes, and then Grantaire stood, said, "I have to go."

"Why? It's not that late." Courf protested, looking at him.

He looked at the clock, then shook his head. "I have to. I'll...I'll see you guys later." he waved as he headed for the door, glancing over at where Enjolras sat and read, then shook himself and headed out into the cool night. He knew the way to Montparnasse's place; would never forget it. The walk took twenty minutes and then he was standing outside Montparnasse's door, ten minutes to ten, and his hands were already trembling.

He closed his eyes tightly and knocked, shaking faintly as the door was opened and he stepped inside the house he had once sworn never to return to. He kept his eyes closed as he was pushed against the wall, as wandering hands pinched and pulled and stripped his clothes off, stayed closed as he felt the weight of a collar settling around his neck. Montparnasse wasn't into hardcore pet play, not really; the collar was just a reminder of Grantaire's place, and the nickname was just another way of reminding Grantaire that he was nothing. Would never be anything worth loving, not to Montparnasse and not to anyone else either.

"Open your eyes, pet."

Grantaire obeyed, tears trembling on his lashes as he looked up at Montparnasse, doing his best not to squirm, trying not to flinch away and cover himself up. He knew that would only invite pain.

"Good." Montparnasse stroked his side gently, as if Grantaire was a nervous animal. "So good for me. Come, pet." his hand encircled Grantaire's wrist and led him into the bedroom, pushed him towards the bed and closed the door. Montparnasse started to strip himself and Grantaire closed his eyes, laying flat on the bed like he knew he was supposed to, arms resting by his sides and legs stretched flat.

He felt hands on his thighs, spreading his legs wide, as far as they could go. Felt a probing hand snaking between his legs, give his dick an exploratory tug, then move farther back.

He lay still, let Montparnasse prep him. Didn't make a sound, didn't move, didn't open his eyes, not until he felt a slap across his cheek and his eyes popped open in pain.

"Keep your eyes open, pet. I want you to experience this." Montparnasse's voice was rough as he rolled Grantaire onto all fours, and Grantaire's lips parted in a soundless breath as he felt the other man pushing inside of him, Montparnasse's hands on his hips. "Good, pet." Montparnasse said as Grantaire felt him sink all the way in. "God, you feel so good."

Montparnasse rolled his hips and Grantaire's head dropped down, mouth hanging open, soft huffs leaving his mouth with each rough thrust.

It took a few minutes and then Montparnasse really got going, pounding into Grantaire. It didn't take long for it to hurt, for Grantaire to cry out with each thrust, trembling and shaking on the bed.

It didn't take much longer after that for Montparnasse to start hitting him, choking him, making sure Grantaire couldn't space out, making sure Grantaire wouldn't enjoy it either, making sure that Montparnasse's pleasure was Grantaire's pain.

The whole night continued like this, with only short breaks when Montparnasse wanted or needed one, before the man would get right back to making Grantaire cry out, to scream until his voice broke.

~**~

The morning couldn't come fast enough, not for the broken brunet. As the sun filtered into the room, Montparnasse pulled the collar off of Grantaire's bruised neck, Grantaire giving a quiet cry as the bruises there gave fresh shots of pain.

"Good, pet. You're dismissed." Montparnasse said, roughly pushing at Grantaire.

Grantaire looked over at the clock, bleary eyed. It was eight in the morning. He found his clothes and got dressed, wincing as each movement pulled on bruises that littered his body.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to recommend two songs for y'all: first song is only available on YouTube, just search "Tex - The Martyr (Enjoltaire)" to find it. The second song is Carry You by Ruelle and Fleurie, and the vibes match this chapter perfectly
> 
> C/W: self harm

He fled Montparnasse's house as fast as he could, hating himself and hating Montparnasse for this, for forcing him into this and hurting him so badly. He rubbed at his eyes as he made his way home, holding back the tears until he was inside, and then he let himself start to cry, curling up into a ball on his bed with his arms wrapped around himself. Bruises screamed with pain with every movement, and it only made him cry harder. He hated himself so fiercely that every other emotion or pain seemed pale in comparison to his own self-hate.

"I want to die." he whispered, voice thick with tears. "I want to _die_." and the vocal admittance of this feeling made him cry even harder. The Les Amis would be better off without him; all of them would. He hiccuped faintly, trembling as he sobbed on his bed, his bruised and beaten body aching and painful.

He didn't know how long he remained like that, crying into the sheets until his tears were spent and his voice was nearly gone, both from the crying and from Montparnasse's treatment.

He stumbled into the bathroom and into the shower, turning on the water and standing underneath the burning hot water until his skin was red. He scrubbed at his arms and legs and body as if trying to erase Montparnasse's touch, and at some point he started to cry again, sitting down on the floor of the shower and sobbing, trembling and shaking, and then there was a razor in his hand and he was cutting again, hardly able to see as the water beat down on him and blood welled to the surface of his wrists as he pressed deeper and deeper, trying to erase the boiling self-hatred inside of him.

When he pulled himself from the shower, there were four new cuts on his wrists and he felt lightheaded from the amount of blood that had run out. He pressed a paper towel to the bleeding, holding it there as he got dressed, then turned off the water. All the blood had been washed down the drain. Stumbling into the kitchen, he started hot water for coffee, feeling even emptier than he ever had before, trembling and shaky and still holding the paper towel to his wrists. While the water began to heat, he headed back to the bathroom and put gauze pads over the cuts, using bandages to hold them down. The cuts were too big and deep for bandaids.

Using a french press, he made a cup of coffee, and added alcohol to it, needing that pleasant fuzziness that alcohol would bring. He curled up on the corner of his couch and drank the coffee, not caring that it was nearly too hot, not caring that it was nearly burning his tongue.

His phone rang, and he picked it up, not looking who it was before he answered. "Hello?" he said, voice hoarse and quiet.

"Grantaire?" a voice responded, sounding surprised.

"Yeah. Who is this?" he was too exhausted and out of it to recognize the voice. Maybe he shouldn't have answered the phone.

"It's Enjolras. I was calling to...well, because Jehan said I should and I didn't feel like arguing with them about it."

Grantaire sat upright a little more, blinking in confusion. "Well...you called. You can hang up now." he knew Enjolras couldn't possibly care about him, that Enjolras was only calling because of Jehan.

"Are you alright, Grantaire? You sound...off."

"I'm..." he trailed off, clearing his throat faintly and trying not to cry again. "I-I'm fine, Enjolras. You don't need to worry about me."

There was a long pause. "Are you sure?"

No, he absolutely was not sure. But it didn't matter. He didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. But he wasn't going to tell Enjolras that. "Yeah." he whispered, swallowing softly and closing his eyes tightly. "I...I'll be at the next meeting."

"Wait, Grantaire, Jehan asked me to get your new address? They said they wanted to drop some things off for you, but they've got classes and couldn't ask you themself, for...whatever reason. I don't know."

He frowned faintly, then told Enjolras his address.

"Thanks. I'll see you at the next meeting, then." and Enjolras hung up, leaving Grantaire to wonder over the strangeness of the call, unsure what the hell was going on, since Enjolras had seemed very awkward in a way that the blond man usually was not.

~~**~~

The next week went rather like that every day. Grantaire didn't hurt himself every day, just when the pain of surviving grew to be too much and he needed a release. Around the Les Amis, he did his best to mask that pain with smiles and laughter, even if it felt forced. Even if he wanted to cry, just at seeing them so happy together. Sometimes, Jehan or Courf would stop by his place for a while, just to hang out. Montparnasse was paying for Grantaire's apartment now, since Grantaire couldn't keep up with his job anymore. Grantaire would have felt ashamed that Montparnasse was paying for it, but he couldn't bring himself to. Montparnasse took the payment from Grantaire's body every night, in any case.

Most days he just sat around his house, or read, or slept. He didn't have the energy for art; he barely had the energy to work on his classwork, much less the thing that had once given him joy. The only time he had tried that week, he had stared at the paper for two hours without making a single mark, before giving up in despair.

Today he was curled on the couch with a cup of tea, the TV blaring while he stared blankly at the wall, not paying attention. Hours had already slipped by like this, with him sipping the tea and spacing out, not thinking about anything. Or at least trying not to.

He was jerked from his reverie by a knock on the door. He set his tea aside and answered the door, blinking in surprise at the sight of Jehan, Courf, and Enjolras.

"Hey?" he greeted, eyebrows tugging together. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Something's going on with you, and we came to figure out what's wrong." Jehan said, coming inside without so much as a "by your leave". "You've been dodging calls, and when you're at the meetings you don't seem nearly as happy as you pretend to be."

Grantaire blinked rapidly. "I..uhm..." he looked at Courf and Enjolras helplessly.

Courf shrugged, following Jehan inside. Enjolras held up a cookie tin. "I brought this. Jehan said you liked them?"

Grantaire blinked again, staring at the blond man for a moment, before taking the cookie tin. "I-I do, yeah." he said softly. "Uhm...you can...you can come in." he closed the door behind Enjolras, tugging absently at his sleeves to make sure the gauze and bandages were covered up.

Jehan and Courf were waiting in the living room, seated together on the couch.

"Sit down." Jehan ordered, gesturing to the remaining seats.

"Jehan, this isn't your house." Grantaire said helplessly, sitting down in a seat and setting the cookie tin on the side table. "I-I...I'm fine, really, you...you don't ahve to worry about me." he was wearing a green turtleneck to hide the bruises on his neck, and moved slowly so as not to aggravate the other bruises that littered his body.

"You aren't acting fine, Grantaire! I'm... _we_ are worried about you, please let us try to help?" Jehan looked at Grantaire, their eyes soft and worried.

"There's...Jehan, it's fine." he said, fidgeting a little and tugging on his sleeves again.

"Stop lying to me, Grantaire." Jehan's voice was sharper than Grantaire had ever heard, and he flinched, shrinking into himself a little.

"I'm s-sorry." he said quietly, looking down at his feet. "I-I...you don't need to worry about me, though."

"Except I _do_ , Grantaire. The way you've been acting, I...I know you've had mental health problems in the past, is that what's going on now?"

Grantaire wished it was just mental health. Sure, his mental health was part of what was wrong, but it wasn't the cause. "I-I..." he glanced at Enjolras and Courf for help. Enjolras was quiet, studying him with those blue eyes of his, and Courf didn't speak.

Grantaire opened the cookies and took a bite of one, avoiding everyone's gaze. "It's _nothing_." he said.

"Grantaire, please." Jehan said, and Grantaire couldn't stand the quiet pity in the other person's voice. He stood and headed into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle from the cabinet, and was about to open it when he heard Enjolras's quiet but firm voice.

"Grantaire, put that bottle down."

Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras, blinking at him. "Why?" he asked, but set down the bottle on the counter with a dull clink.

"Because if this is a conversation that makes you feel like drinking, it must be important. You didn't used to drink, not like you do now. What's going on?"

"What's going on?" he echoed, shaking his head. "What's going on is that I was sober for six months, and then I gave up. I stopped. I-I...I need my drinks, Enjolras, you don't...you don't understand. I need them."

"Why do you need them?" Enjolras asked, his voice softer and more gentle than Grantaire had ever heard from him before.

"I-I...because...I just...I need them to cope. Th-that's all." he said, fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves and not looking at Enjolras.

"Cope with what?" Enjolras's voice was still so much softer than Grantaire had ever heard.

He bit his lower lip, not wanting to tell them what Montparnasse was doing to him. He couldn't bear to see what they would say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what do y'all think of the idea of another Enjoltaire fic, with Grantaire as a witch and Enjolras the demon he has accidentally summoned? The idea has been bouncing around my head for a while, and I think it might be neat


	11. Chapter 11

"Grantaire. Cope with what?" the question came again, and Grantaire could only shake his head wordlessly, bowing his head so that they couldn't see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He took a shaky breath, his arms curled close around his body.

There were footsteps and then hands touched his shoulders, one brushing against his chin lightly. "Grantaire, what's going on?" this was Jehan now, their voice soft and so very worried.

He shook his head again, flinching back from Jehan's hands. "N-no. It's...it's...please. Please just...just l-leave me alone, I-I can't...I..." he sniffled faintly, wiping furiously at his eyes to try and chase away the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.

"Grantaire?" there were more footsteps, and he knew that Courf and Enjolras had come into the kitchen too, worried for him.

He let out a trembling breath, shaking his head and not looking up. "Please." he breathed. "I-I can't...I..."

"Grantaire, we aren't going to leave until you tell us what's wrong." Courf said. "And whatever it is, we'll do our best to help you."

He sniffled faintly, closing his eyes tight. "Y-you can't...it's...it's not something you could...help with, I... _please_ , I-I don't..."

"Here, you go and sit down and I'll make you some tea, and then you can talk, okay?" Jehan said in a soft, soothing voice, gently stroking Grantaire's back. "That sound nice to you?"

"O-okay." he stammered, moving to sit down on the couch, curling his knees to his chest. Someone placed a blanket around him, and he moved to pull it tighter around his body, his breathing shaking and faint, his gaze still fixed to the floor rather than at anyone else.

Courf sat down in the recliner, and Enjolras sat down beside Grantaire, one hand hovering uncertainly at his shoulder, but not quite touching him.

After a few minutes, Jehan came over and handed Grantaire a steaming mug of tea. "It's honey and chamomile tea, Grantaire. Just like you like it."

Grantaire nodded, blowing faintly on the tea and taking a deep breath as Jehan sat down on his other side.

"Now tell us what's going on. Take your time, Grantaire. We've got all the time we need." Jehan said softly.

He nodded again, taking a small sip of the tea and closing his eyes. "Okay." he whispered. Where could he even start? He knew he had to start with why Montparnasse could do this to him, so maybe he had to start with two years ago. Yes. That was the best place to start. "S-so, two years ago, I...I ran into this...this guy. And he was...not a good man. H-he, uhm...he was awful, but I-I didn't...figure that out until it was too late. I, uh, I got into a relationship, moved in with him, and h-he...uhm...it turned a-abusive really quick. I-I wasn't...he would drug me a-and...and hurt me, and...and i-it didn't matter if I consented to things. H-he would just...just..." he shook his head, taking another sip of the tea.

Jehan rubbed his back gently, but didn't speak, giving Grantaire all the time he needed to think and speak.

"A-and he...he was involved with some sort of...of mob, I guess. L-like the mafia or something. And he'd...he'd take me to meetings and...and..." he shook his head, sniffling faintly as a tear ran down his cheek. "H-he'd let...other people...do things to me." his voice was no louder than a whisper, and he heard Enjolras let out a breath at Grantaire's words, and then felt Enjolras's hand gently move to his shoulder, rubbing gently to try and soothe him.

"I-I ran away, after...after a year of that. And...a few months later, I met you guys. I m-moved in you guys, Jehan and Courf, and I-I was...I was sober and...and it was nice." he whispered, taking another sip of tea. "A-and then, uhm, a few months ago, I ran into the guy again. After one of the meetings. A-and he...he started...harassing me. Calling me, a-and texting me. H-he had, uhm, pictures. Of me. F-from when...from the time I'd spent with him. And he s-said that...that if I d-didn't come back to him, he would...he would send the pictures to all of you, and...I didn't want you to s-see me that way."

He sniffled, rubbing his face and shaking his head a little bit. "S-so I ran off. I m-moved here a-and cut ties with...with all of you, s-so that he couldn't find me again. And...and I was safe, for a while, but i-it was...it was hell. I started drinking again, and..." he took another sip of tea. "And then h-he...he tracked me d-down, and he said that if I didn't...if I didn't..." he let out a faint sob, covering his mouth with a hand and shaking his head, crying softly.

Arms wrapped around him, drew him in for a hug. "Shh, we've got you." Jehan soothed, running their hands through Grantaire's hair. Enjolras was still gently rubbing Grantaire's upper back and shoulder.

"If I didn't go w-with him...h-he was going to...was going to do the same things to all of you th-that he'd d-done to me, a-and I couldn't...I couldn't let him d-do that...so I made a deal. I-I...I have to spend every n-night with him, and one day a week, too." he finally admitted that, crying into Jehan's shoulder. Someone gently took the tea from his hands, setting it on the coffee table so that he wouldn't spill it.

"I'm so sorry, Grantaire." Jehan murmured, doing their best to soothe him. "I'm so sorry."

He shuddered faintly, still crying into his friend's shoulder. "I-I'm just...I..." he sniffled. He hated himself so much, hated Montparnasse even more. He still wanted to die. He didn't deserve this kindness that his friends were giving him right now, didn't deserve their sympathy and gentleness. At that thought, he slowly pulled away, wiping at his face with the cuffs of his sleeves, shaking his head a little bit. "I d-don't deserve...I don't deserve your k-kindness." he whispered. "I-I..." he looked down at his hands, biting his lip faintly.

Enjolras shifted faintly from beside him. "It isn't about what you deserve, Grantaire." the blond said after a moment. "It's about what we're giving you. For the record, you do deserve our kindness, but even if you didn't, it isn't about deserving."

"Well-put." Courf said. "Enjolras is right. It isn't about whether or not you deserve it. It's only about whether or not we're willing to give it. And we are. So therefore, whether or not you deserve it has nothing to do with whether or not we give our kindness."

Grantaire picked up the mug of tea, taking a sip and shaking his head again. "I-I just..." he trailed off, unsure what to say in response to them. He took a shaky breath, swallowing down another sip of tea after a moment, closing his eyes.

"What?" Jehan asked, voice infinitely gentle.

"I don't know." he whispered, glancing up at Jehan uncertainly. "I d-don't know."

"Okay. What...what do you want to do about this guy?" Enjolras asked slowly.

"His name is Montparnasse." Grantaire whispered. "And I...I don't know what to do."

"Okay. Can you report him to the police?"

He shook his head faintly. "I-I've tried. It doesn't...nothing happens t-to him. His...mob has their fingers everywhere. None of them will be arrested. N-not on...on the word of a drunkard like me."

Jehan grimaced. "That's fucking bullshit."

Grantaire looked up at them in surprise. Jehan didn't often swear, so hearing those words from their mouth was a large surprise. "Yeah." he breathed, drinking more tea.

"Can you...just not go to him?" Enjolras asked. His hand was resting gently on Grantaire's shoulder.

He shrugged helplessly. "N-no. If...if I don't go, he'll..." he trailed off with a shudder, closing his eyes tightly. "The things he'll do..."

"Then...what can we do?" Courf asked. "We can't just let you stay with him. That's not...we can't just let you suffer."

Grantaire didn't have a good answer, and he only shrugged again. "There's nothing to be done." he whispered. "Not that I know of, anyway."

Enjolras let out a breath from beside him. "I'm sorry." he said quietly. "This is...god, it's just terrible no matter which way you look at it."

"Yeah." Grantaire agreed quietly, taking another sip of tea. He still felt like shit, but somehow...lighter? It had taken a weight off of him to be able to confide in others about what Montparnasse had done to him, even if all they could do was hold him and try to soothe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have posted the first chapter of Witch Grantaire and Demon Enjolras! https://archiveofourown.org/works/29678217


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